Chapter 1
Fleur Delacour had always believed that happiness was a fragile balance, a fleeting moment that, once acknowledged, became vulnerable to fate. But now, as she looked at her wife and daughters, as she felt their laughter fill the home they had built together, she wondered if it was wrong to hold onto the idea that this happiness could last.
Because the truth was, she had everything.
Hermione Jean Granger had been her clearest choice, the one certainty in her life. With her, Fleur had found a love without limits, a companionship that never faded in the face of hardship. And then there were their little ones, Roseline and Victoire, their greatest treasures.
The girls were the perfect reflection of both of them, a fascinating blend of their worlds. Rose had golden hair, though a bit darker and messier—just like Hermione’s—and the same sky-blue eyes as Fleur. Victoire, on the other hand, had lighter, straighter hair but those warm brown eyes she adored in her English wife.
Some nights, as she watched them sleep, Fleur felt a sharp pang of irrational fear. What if something took away what they had?
That thought haunted her more than she liked to admit.
But not that evening.
That evening, she decided to push her fears aside as she opened the door and heard the excited voices of her daughters.
—Mon amour, I'm home.
She didn’t have time to say anything else before two small bodies crashed into her legs.
—Maman!
Fleur let out a laugh and bent down to embrace them, covering them in kisses as they giggled.
—Mes amours, it seems you've been waiting for me all day.
—Yes, because we want to play with you, —Rose said, looking at her with serious determination.
—And we’re hungry, —Victoire added, crossing her arms in the exact same way Hermione did when she was displeased.
From the living room, a warm and amused voice echoed.
—And what about me? Don’t I deserve a kiss, Madame?
Fleur looked up to find Hermione leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a teasing smile on her lips.
—I don't know, mon ange. You didn’t even run into my arms when I arrived.
—Maman, you have to kiss Mummy, —Rose ordered with the confidence of someone making an official decree. Victoire nodded eagerly.
—Only because my amours asked for it.
Hermione stepped closer, cupping Fleur’s face gently before kissing her sweetly. As she pulled away, she leaned in to whisper in her ear:
—If you're only doing it because Rose asked... someone will be sleeping on the sofa tonight.
Fleur raised an eyebrow with a playful smirk, but before she could respond, Victoire interrupted their moment with a loud declaration.
—Maman, I’m hungry!
The blonde sighed dramatically.
—That daughter of yours always interrupts our moments.
Hermione laughed.
—If I hadn’t given birth to her, I’d swear she was a Weasley.
Fleur swatted her arm lightly.
—Mon ange, do not compare my daughters to the Weasleys. My Veela won’t accept it.
—I know, I know. I didn’t mean to upset you.
Hermione wrapped her arms around Fleur’s waist and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
—To make it up to you, tonight I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.
Fleur narrowed her eyes in amusement.
—I’ll hold you to that, mon ange.
"What are we having for dinner today, mon ange?" Fleur asked as she sat at the table, casting a curious glance at Hermione.
"Your daughters asked for bouillabaisse."
Fleur smiled in satisfaction as she settled into her chair, savoring the warm aroma of the broth and seafood.
"Mmm… one of my favorite dishes, ma chérie." Saying this, she slowly ran her tongue over her lips with a playful expression, making Hermione roll her eyes with a mix of resignation and amusement at her wife’s antics.
"I'm glad to hear that because tomorrow you'll be taking the leftovers to work."
Fleur let out a dramatic sigh and pouted.
"You’re a cruel mon ange."
Hermione shook her head with a smile.
"Drop the pout, Delacour, and eat. Your daughters are watching you."
Fleur lifted her gaze and realized Hermione wasn’t entirely right. Victoire was focused on her food, busy fishing out pieces of fish with her spoon, but Rose was watching her intently, her brow furrowed, a question clearly forming in her mind.
Before the little girl could speak, Fleur took a bite of her dinner, as if that would delay the inevitable.
It didn’t work.
"Maman, why did you say Mummy is cruel?"
Fleur should have seen it coming. After all, her chaton was just as curious as her mother.
"It’s not true, mon trésor. It was just a joke for your maman."
Rose tilted her head, thoughtful.
"Jokes are bad. They can hurt Mummy."
Hermione seized the opportunity, giving Fleur a condescending look before smiling sweetly at their daughter.
"You're right, Rose. Some jokes can hurt people. But don’t worry, ma chérie. I know Maman was just playing." She gently ran a hand through the little girl’s hair. "Now finish your dinner, okay?"
Rose nodded, satisfied with the explanation, and turned her attention back to her plate. Victoire, who had been entirely absorbed in her food until that moment, lifted her head and looked at her sister with mild confusion.
"Rose, are you done interrogating Maman?"
Fleur let out a chuckle and kissed Victoire’s forehead.
"You two are so cruel to me, mes amours."
Hermione nudged her lightly and smiled.
"You'll survive, my love."
Fleur sighed dramatically, but she couldn’t stop the smile that formed on her lips as she watched their daughters peacefully finish their meal.
After dinner, the two women found themselves curled up with their daughters in the bedroom, telling them a bedtime story. Fleur gently stroked Rose’s hair as the little girl yawned, her eyes slowly beginning to close. Victoire, on the other hand, tried to resist sleep, but her head was already resting against Hermione’s arm.
"Maman… can you sing?" Rose murmured sleepily.
Fleur nodded tenderly and began to sing softly in French, her voice filling the room like a gentle embrace.
Sleep, my treasure, close your eyes,
The moon watches over the skies.
The stars are dancing, the wind hums low,
May your dreams be soft and glow.
Little angel, sleep with peace,
My love surrounds you with sweet ease.
Tomorrow the sun will shine so bright,
And your laughter will fill the light.
In my arms, all is still,
My love for you, unbreakable and real.
Close your eyes, let yourself sway,
I’ll be here, always to stay.
Hermione watched her in silence, a soft smile on her lips as their daughters finally drifted into sleep.
The house was silent. The only sound that could be heard was the slow, steady breathing of their daughters, deeply asleep beneath soft blankets. Fleur ran her fingers through Rose’s curls one last time before carefully rising to her feet, making sure not to wake them.
Hermione was already standing, watching her with a serene smile. Their eyes met in the dim light, and without the need for words, they slipped out of the room with quiet steps.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Fleur let out a long sigh, as if she were releasing all the tension of the day. Before Hermione could say anything, the blonde pulled her into her arms, burying her face into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent.
“Mon ange, I missed you so much…” she murmured against her skin. “The day felt endless without you.”
Hermione smiled softly, running her fingers through Fleur’s golden hair.
“I missed you too, love, but your daughters certainly didn’t give me a moment to breathe with all their mischief.”
Fleur let out a low chuckle, her lips brushing against Hermione’s collarbone.
“Mon chérie, as much as I love our daughters… right now, I don’t want you to think about them.” Her voice grew deeper, more intimate. “I want you to think only of me.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes playfully, tracing slow circles over Fleur’s shoulders.
“Fleur Isabelle Delacour, are you jealous of our daughters?”
The blonde looked at her with feigned indignation before capturing Hermione’s hand between her own, bringing it to her lips, and kissing it tenderly.
“It’s not that, mon amour… but I want this moment just for us.”
Hermione didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she let her fingers trace the elegant line of Fleur’s jaw, her thumb gliding over her cheek with delicate affection.
“Alright, my love. I’ll follow your orders because, after all, I needed to have you in my arms just as much.”
Without giving Fleur a chance to respond, Hermione lifted her wand with a simple flick and a soft murmur. In an instant, the fabric covering their bodies vanished, slipping away as if it had never been there. Fleur let out a quiet gasp, surprised, but her laughter was swallowed by Hermione’s lips as they claimed hers in a kiss so intense it stole her breath.
The kiss started slow, almost languid, but soon deepened, becoming more demanding. Fleur felt her legs weaken, and she clung to Hermione as if she were the only solid thing in the world.
Hermione guided her towards the bed with unhurried ease, savoring every moment. Her fingers mapped out Fleur’s skin with devotion, as if memorizing every inch of her. Fleur trembled under her touch, her breath hitching when Hermione’s lips trailed down to her neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses in their wake.
“Je t’aime…” Fleur whispered, her voice barely a breath against the darkness.
Hermione smiled against her skin, her own breathing growing unsteady.
“I love you too.”
The night unfolded between soft caresses and murmured words, between quiet gasps and hushed laughter that faded into the dimly lit room. There was no rush, only the desire to feel, to rediscover each other with every touch, with every kiss that ignited the fire between them.
And when, at last, they lay wrapped in each other’s warmth, their bodies still entwined and their hearts beating in the same rhythm, Fleur rested her head against Hermione’s chest, letting the steady sound of her breathing lull her.
The outside world didn’t matter.
There was only them, tangled in sheets and silent promises, until sleep claimed them with the same tenderness with which they belonged to one another.
The morning light filtered softly through the curtains as Hermione woke up. She stretched lazily, feeling the cold mattress beside her. Frowning, she ran her hand over the empty sheets, confirming what she already suspected: Fleur had been gone for quite some time.
She sighed, rubbing her eyes before sitting up in bed. It wasn’t the first time. Her wife had a habit of waking up early whenever she had an important expedition, but that didn’t mean Hermione liked waking up without her.
With a resigned sigh, she got up and walked to the bathroom. The warmth of the shower relaxed her tired muscles, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. But as she stepped out, drying her hair and catching her reflection in the mirror, her frown returned.
Marks.
Several, scattered across her neck, collarbone, and shoulders. Small traces of the fervor of the previous night.
Hermione let out a sigh, a mix of exasperation and tenderness. Fleur and her obsession with leaving marks. Shaking her head, she murmured a spell, watching as the marks slowly faded, though the warmth of the memories lingered on her skin.
After dressing and tidying up the room, she headed toward her daughters’ bedroom, where the sound of giggles greeted her warmly.
“My babies, how did you wake up?”
Two bright pairs of eyes turned toward her. Victoire, the more energetic of the two, jumped up from the bed, stretching her arms out for her mother to pick her up.
“Good, Mummy! I dreamed that a big dragon was flying to rescue Rose from some dinosaurs.”
Hermione let out a chuckle and kissed her eldest daughter’s forehead.
“Really? That sounds like such a fun dream, Vic.”
She turned to Rose, expecting her younger daughter to share her own dream with the same enthusiasm. But the little girl wouldn’t meet her gaze. She clung tightly to her stuffed bear, her expression clouded.
“And you, Rose? What did you dream about?”
It took the girl a moment to answer, her small voice barely a whisper.
“Fear.”
A wave of unease washed over Hermione. She knelt in front of her daughter, gently stroking her hair.
“Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?”
Rose shook her head, pressing her lips together in frustration.
Hermione held back a sigh. She understood her daughter’s reluctance. Rose had a gift that not many people could comprehend—the ability to see glimpses of the future in her dreams. At first, Hermione had been skeptical, recalling her experiences with the eccentric Trelawney at Hogwarts. But after several unsettling incidents and an enlightening conversation with Apolline, she had come to accept the truth.
It was a legacy from her Veela bloodline.
A legacy that, sometimes, scared Hermione more than she cared to admit.
“I don’t want to talk,” Rose said, lowering her gaze. “I just want to see Maman.”
There was sadness in her voice, and Hermione leaned in to kiss her forehead.
“Maman already left for work, Rose. But we can send her an owl and see her at the hospital later, okay?”
Rose didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes, which reflected so much of Fleur’s, shimmered with unshed tears before she finally nodded in silence.
“Alright, Osie. We’ll see Maman soon,” Victoire said, taking her sister’s hand protectively.
Hermione watched the exchange with a tightness in her chest. Victoire had always been the braver, more outgoing one, but when it came to Rose, her protective instincts were unwavering.
Moments like this reminded Hermione why she needed to talk to Fleur about her job.
She couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Rose’s visions were always connected to her mother. And every time Fleur got hurt on a mission, Rose woke up with nightmares.
That inexplicable, unbreakable connection made the little girl deeply attached to her mother. Hermione couldn’t blame her. Fleur was her world.
But if Rose’s nightmare had anything to do with Fleur, Hermione’s day was about to be long and exhausting.
She decided not to push Rose. She knew that if her daughter wanted to talk, she would, in her own time.
After breakfast, Hermione prepared to take the twins to the hospital daycare, as she did every Friday. Though she considered it a practical routine, her mothers-in-law, Apolline and Elea, did not approve.
Apolline, especially, was adamant that the girls should spend more time at home under her care.
“How will Rose develop her gift if she’s not with someone who can teach her?”
Her mother-in-law’s words still echoed in her mind. Hermione understood Apolline’s concern, but the thought of her daughter being treated like a seer-in-training unsettled her.
She was just a child.
A weary sigh escaped her lips as she helped the girls put on their cloaks. There was too much on her mind.
And deep down, a feeling told her that today wouldn’t be like any other.